Deep Dreaming
by valiasedai
Summary: Anon!Fail for a kmeme prompt. Morrigan has a kink...She loves watching men get it on. One night she casts a sleep spell on the rest of the camp while casting a sex spell on Alistair/Sten/Zevran.  M for slash, dub-con, group.


_Full Prompt: __Morrigan has a kink...She loves watching men get it on. One night she casts a sleep spell on the rest of the camp while casting a sex spell on Alistair/Sten/Zevran. The morning after Alistair and Sten feel...odd while Zevran feels like he had the best fuck of his life. _

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The sleep spell cast, Morrigan couldn't help feel a swell of pride. One couldn't be Flemeth's daughter without learning _something_ of blood magic, but that wasn't necessary for this. Everyone had desires, she simply allowed them to be acted upon without reservation. One just had to give sufficient… _motivation_.

Pausing at the Templar's bedroll, she allowed herself a wicked smile. Even if his personality drove her to madness, his body was quite something else. She'd had to heal him several times, and more than one of those occasions had required a removal of pants. He'd blushed deeply out of sheer embarrassment, but tonight she would see him flushed for a different reason. Building the spell, Morrigan took all the components of a nightmare and made them pleasant and enticing, giving him dreams that would draw out long-hidden desires, twisted to suit her purposes.

The assassin was next. She knew he'd hardly be any work – she'd seen him eye more than one man – and it was, in fact, his willingness that had made her consider such a thing possible. He, too, received an intense vision, and almost before the spell was completed she could hear the rustling of blankets.

It was the qunari she was unsure of. She knew he was strong-willed and stoic and… well, she didn't entirely believe his claims of sex among his kind. It certainly wouldn't be unimaginable, but she had finally begun to realize he possessed an odd sense of humor no one else really seemed to understand. Another dream for him, this one stronger than the others by far, but the most she could do with him was wait.

Turning back towards the campfire, Morrigan grinned. Alistair was stumbling out and Zevran was already there. The taller of the two stopped when he saw the shirtless elf and as she grew closer, she could see his skin flushed as it had been during his healings, but this time it was _different_. It wasn't a flush of shame; it was one of pure lust. Uncertainty tempered his features, but the sureness of the assassin's movements quickly overcame them. Delicate fingers curled into the short blonde hair and pulled the Templar's face to the elf's, lips meeting in one soft, delicate kiss before becoming a fierce tangle of tongue and lips. The human's hands were sliding down the assassin's back, drifting slowly, _deliberately_ until they were cupping the firm, curved flesh of his buttocks. Shifting quietly, Morrigan moved to the skin she had carefully placed in the shadow of a tent and watched the fruits of her labor.

Pale skin met gold as the men writhed and thrust and grabbed at each other, the low sounds of gasps and moans meeting her ears. As much as it might _look_ like the human was in control, it was really Zevran who led. The smaller man dominated every kiss, his hands still firmly guiding the angle of the Templar's head, occasionally tugging at the short golden hair to expose Alistair's neck. Teeth nipped and hips rolled as the human was slowly pushed and led back to his bedroll.

Deft, slim hands were working at the laces of loose trousers, and Morrigan felt the heat rise in her cheeks. _This_ was what she wanted and now – _Now _she could take the pleasure in her work. Unfastening the buckles on her skirts as Zevran drew the fabric from Alistair, she bit her lip _hard_, the sudden jolt of pain mixing with the rising desire. A deft removal of the human's smallclothes was echoed as she slid her own around her ankles. Just as her hand slid between her legs, Zevran's darted to grasp Alistair's newly-exposed erection and she let out a quiet gasp of pleasure. The elf moved beautifully, drawing out every motion just enough to prolong the act, but it was never so painfully slow as to frustrate. The Templar's golden lashes were fluttering as the assassin drew gasps and moans with nothing more than strokes of his hand, the pace varying in a dozen ways to hold off the other man's release.

As Alistair's body arched upwards, the low whisk of boots through grass caught her ears. Whipping around, Morrigan could see nothing, and the risk of being caught only increased her need for a climax, her slick fingers working the folds of her sex in quick motions. Sten suddenly burst into view, the boots the only thing he seemed to have bothered with in his dream-state. Thick, corded muscle from shoulders to calves, Sten made the Templar look slight, while the assassin looked downright _feminine_. It was only now that either of the other men noticed him, Alistair's eyes widening, jaw going slack. Zevran turned just as the qunari reached them, the light from the fire illuminating a flash of white teeth. Sten stopped only a moment before kneeling beside the elf and seizing his face in his hands.

Letting out a breath she didn't remember holding, Morrigan barely stifled a whimper of pleasure as the two men kissed, Alistair looking up at them with rapt fascination, the elf's hands still firmly gripping his arousal.

As suddenly as they had joined, they parted, chests heaving with breaths so loud she could hear the tremble in both. Everything shifted at once – as Zevran's hand left Alistair, the qunari took over, bending down to cover the human's mouth with his own. Zevran withdrew a small vial from his short trousers before shucking them and his smallclothes. Shifting behind Sten, the assassin trailed his mouth over shoulders and back, nipping, sucking, leaving a trail of small red bruises on the grey-bronze skin. For his part, Alistair had finally lifted a hand to the qunari's erection, the other man responding with a thrust into the calloused palm. It was all a tangle of hands and mouths and limbs and Morrigan drew herself to a climax, barely catching her gasp in her throat. Her calves flexed as she let her head fall back, eyes closed, head still dancing with the image of three men totally lost to one another.

Panting hard as the orgasm subsided, Morrigan blinked, waiting for her vision to clear. As she looked towards the men, she saw they'd moved again – Alistair had joined Zevran, Sten was on his knees, and the Templar's fingers were slowly sliding into the qunari, guided by the prone man's hissing breaths and soft, unintelligible words spoken in reassuring tones by the elf.

One minute passed, then two, the movements of the human growing quicker, the qunari's hisses long turned into moans as he writhed back. Zevran had slowly, so _very_ slowly, moved, slithering alongside Sten until he was kneeling in front of the man's face. The angle was all wrong for Morrigan to actually _see_, but when the elf's head tipped back, eyes closed and mouth parted _just_ so, she realized she didn't _need_ to see. Deft fingers seized Sten by his braids and soon he, too was moving in time with the Templar's thrusts. Every so often the qunari's head was drawn back, allowing him a few deep, gasping breaths, before his mouth was returned to the task.

Finally, the elf sat back on his heels, panting heavily. He was moving again, back to Alistair, who was still thrusting fingers in long, smooth motions. Zevran slowly laid a hand on the human's and grasped it, drawing it back and out. The small vial suddenly reappeared and oil was dribbled along the Templar's phallus and quickly spread with slim fingers. Suddenly the elf was guiding Alistair forward, pressing him towards Sten, speaking in low, breathy tones as he guided the two men together.

Biting her lip hard enough to draw blood, Morrigan watched in rapt fascination as she slid one finger, then two, inside herself. The two men were joined now, the Templar moving slowly, carefully as his legs visibly trembled. The assassin was still guiding him, moving the other man's hand to grasp the qunari's thick phallus, and when the sword-calloused hand gripped him Sten let out a pleased moan and pushed back.

It seemed to take forever for the human to exchange his long, slow strokes for thrusts, but he was finally taking the man beneath him. The movement was uneven and never quite gained a steady rhythm, but every hitch in pace was met with a hitch in his breath, a visible flex of his musculature that echoed Sten's pleasured grunts. For his part, Zevran was still behind Alistair, but he was not idle – teeth and lips trailed along the Templar's shoulder as his hands fluttered between the other man's legs, stroking, _teasing_, until a finger slowly slid inside.

It was too much, and in a half dozen frantic strokes Alistair buried himself inside the qunari completely, collapsing against the broad expanse of back and muscle, panting heavily. The assassin took the opportunity to work the finger deeper, eliciting a half-strangled yelp from Alistair. Tangling his free hand in the human's hair, Zevran gently tugged until he complied, drawing him back until he was pressed to the elf's chest. Sten drew away as well, slowly pulling off of the Templar. The warrior turned to face the other two men, moving towards them on hands and knees. Massive hands engulfed Alistair's face as Sten kissed him roughly.

Seeing the three so close and involved with each other sent another wave of pleasure through Morrigan. Letting her head fall back, she inhaled sharply before letting out a long, slow breath, chest heaving. Trying to catch her breath, Morrigan closed her eyes for several moments, waiting for her pulse to slow. Her body echoed each beat of her heart, the intensity lending an eroticism of its own.

When her heart had finally slowed, she lifted her head again, half-whimpering at the new sight. Zevran was gripping Alistair's hips as his own moved in and out of the Templar with long, smooth movements, his eyes half closed, lips parted in pleasure. The Templar was on his hands and knees, body rocking in time with the elf's movements. Sten had a hand tangled in Alistair's short hair and was holding the man's head as still as he could. His other hand was gripping the base of his phallus, guiding it between the younger man's lips. The human's face was too obscured by shadow and Sten for Morrigan to see his expression, but the way the qunari's hand tightened and pulled every now and then bespoke resistance. She wasn't surprised given Sten's size – he was no more than proportional to his size, but the Templar _still_ couldn't take more than half of his length – but the struggle only made the scene more satisfying.

As minutes passed, Alistair seemed to relax until Sten didn't _have_ to thrust. The Templar was taking the man's erection more easily, and Morrigan could see he was hardening again. The qunari's brows were furrowed deep, eyes intent on Alistair's head. The long, gradual build of Zevran's rhythm had reached a peak, and the elf's sweat-slicked back shone in the firelight.

Sten released first, nearly choking Alistair as he thrust as deep as the man could manage. The Templar tried to writhe away, but the elf's grip was to firm. A long, low grumble sounded in Sten's chest, and when he finally pulled out it was met with a long gasp from Alistair. The warrior cupped the other man's face gently, tilting it back as he leaned down for a kiss.

The sight drew a low grown from Zevran and his thrusting finally ceased as he buried himself in the Templar, fingers gripping the man's hips so hard it drew a whimper against Sten's mouth. Morrigan brought herself to a final climax as the men slowly parted, touching and kissing as they did. Minutes passed before the camp was once again quiet and lonely, and everyone was settled into their bedrolls.

Dressing herself, Morrigan couldn't help a smirk of satisfaction. None of them knew – or _would_ know – and for all their waking reservations their dream-selves were delightfully unrestrained.

Crouching low by the Warden's tent, Morrigan carefully withdrew the sleeping spell from the camp. She let out a warm burst of magic towards the Warden, making him stir. "It's your watch. I'm going to get some rest."

There was a rustling of blankets and low grunt. "Right. Get some rest."

She intended to do _just_ that.

* * *

Sten did not get sore. He had trained from childhood to be strong, to not tire, to fight harder and endure more than any enemy he might face. He was Sten of the _Beresaad_. He did not get sore.

Yet… he _was_ sore. In the strangest of places. And tired. The soreness was accompanied by a sense of fulfillment he hadn't experienced in many, many months. Frowning to himself, he decided to forgo his morning practice and contemplate the _Qun_. So much time among the _bas_ had made him soft.

Closing his eyes, Sten let out a stubborn grunt. _I do not get sore._

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Alistair wanted to curl up into a ball and _die_ of shame. The dreams he'd had last night had been so vivid and strong and – No. He needed to stop thinking about it, but he couldn't push the memories from his mind. He'd never had a dream where he could _taste_ everything the morning before. And the niggling soreness at the back of his throat was disturbing on several levels. He was a virgin. He didn't like men. He hadn't even kissed anyone, much less –

Eyes widening in horror, he realized he'd have to face Sten and Zevran sooner or later. Whimpering quietly to himself, Alistair felt his face heat. Tonight _he_ was taking second watch, Morrigan's insistence on taking it be damned.

* * *

Stretching with a yawn, Zev couldn't help the smile that curved his lips. Lovely, _wicked_ dreams had filled his head last night. His fine qunari and Templar companions would be far too prudish to engage in such lovely abandonment. Rolling onto his stomach, Zev felt the little vial of oil dig into his hips. Digging it out with a hand, he was about to toss it onto his pack before he realized something. Half of it was empty and he knew it had been full the morning before. Raising an eyebrow, a grin bloomed onto his face. Unless someone had snuck into his tent and stolen the vial, last night had been more real than he had thought.

Vague memories of Morrigan, half-naked and panting, tickled his mind and he nodded slowly, thoughtfully. He'd have to find a way to thank her. This was going to make things _fun_.

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_Many thanks to decantate, my lovely beta. She's also the only reason I have a title that doesn't involve porning up titles from 50's and 60's tv shows._


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